Intoxicating
by Glorious Clio
Summary: AU It's 1920, and Annie has just been booted out of her house for having illegal liquor. What happens next is anyone's guess.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Intoxicating  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Word Count:** 2751  
**Genre:** Historical Fiction, Romance  
**Summary:** It's 1920, and Annie has just been booted out of her house for having illegal liquor. What happens next is anyone's guess.  
**Disclaimer:**I don't own Community. Isn't it obvious?

**A/N:** This story (hopefully) fulfills na_thalia's prompt: _ Annie as a 1920s lounge singer!_  
I tried not to get too bogged down in historical detail.  
Crossposted totumblr and livejournal

...

Here she was, Little Annie Edison, standing outside an infamous speakeasy. Well, not so much infamous as... local. It wasn't the 21 in New York, but it was serving the real McCoy.

Maybe not the real McCoy. But booze. You get the idea.

It's not like Greendale, Colorado was known for rumrunning.

But they needed a singer.

And Annie needed a job.

Since her mother, head of Greendale's Women's Christian Temperance Movement. had discovered Annie's flask, half full of gin, had thrown her daughter out.

Annie had snuck back in at midnight for her Chanel dresses, shoes, cigarettes, and the tight wad of money that she kept under a loose floorboard beneath her bed. After counting it at the bus station, she realized she didn't have _quite _enough money to get to New York City, or even Chicago.

But she was eighteen, an independant woman, old enough to drink (even if it was illegal) and vote (nationwide), so she had taken a room at the local hotel/brothel and began looking for a job. Any job. One of the working girls had mentioned that Pelton's, a speakeasy/women's clothing emporium on L Street.

Annie shivered in the January snow, staring at the red door, pondering what was on the other side. A life of liquor and sin and fast talking men. Or a steady income so she could save her money and make her dreams come true. She snapped her fingers together (for luck, or something), adjusted her handkerchief hem and marched in.

"Hello!" a woman called from the front desk.

Annie, showing no fear, approached. "Are you Vicky?"

"Yup," she said, snapping her gum.

"Pop, pop?" Annie's voice stuttered into a question after saying the codeword.

"We're not open yet, miss."

"I'm here for the audition."

Vicky rapped on the wall behind her. An unseen panel opened.

"Big Neil, this lady wants to audition for Craig."

"Hi!" Annie waved.

"This way, miss," Big Neil told her.

Annie flounced through the panel. "Thank you," she smiled.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Hey, boss! This girl wants to audition." He settled down on his stool next to the hidden door again.

"Wowee, another one!" The 'boss' stood up. He was a short man. If Annie had taken off her high heels, they would have been the same height. He was bald and wore square framed glasses. The sleeves on his shirt were short, and he wore a striped tie.

"What do you mean, another one? This is our first girl, Craig."

Annie's eyes were drawn to a man slouched nonchalantly over a chair. He was toying with a large silver coin, tapping it on the table and making it turn tricks through his fingers. He caught her staring, winked, and slid the coin easily in his pocket. He was older, with laugh lines around his eyes, but his hair was tousled and his smile was easy. He stood, and here was a proper height. At least a foot taller than her.

"I'm Annie Edison," she said, swallowing her sudden tremors. She stuck out her hand.

"Craig Pelton," said the shorter man, shaking it.

"Jeff Winger, attorney at law," said the other man. He took her hand and brushed a kiss over her fingers.

Someone banged on a piano. The trio turned.

"Ah," said Mr. Pelton. "That's Pierce Hawthorne, our piano player. Vaughn over there plays the bass, Rich is trumpet, and on drums we have Ian Duncan, all the way from the East End in England."

"Wow," said Annie. She draped her coat over the back of a chair.

Mr. Winger and Mr. Pelton walked her over to the stage, and Mr. Winger offered his hand as she climbed the five short steps. "Milady," he said playfully.

She felt herself flush. "Mr. Winger."

His face wrinkled. "It's Jeff."

She shook her head. "Milord," she said.

"What are you going to sing?" Pierce called. He was an older man; clearly he had been a piano man on and in saloons his entire life. Practically.

"I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate," Annie said.

"Alright, here it comes," said Ian, counting out the rhythm.

_"I went to a dance with my sister Kate; _  
_Everybody there thought she danced so great; _  
_I realized a thing or two, _  
_When I got wise to something new:_  
_When I looked at Kate, she was in a trance, _  
_And then I knew it was in her dance; _  
_All the boys are going wild _  
_Over sister Katie's style."_

She sang all the lyrics, almost as if she was reciting for Ms. Cullen, her schoolteacher. Perfectly in key, perfectly clear.

But she could see Jeff frowning. Annie looked wildly around the room and met the eyes of the barkeep. Dark hair, dark eyes, whip thin, and an honest face that you felt you could tell all your troubles to.

After the song was over, Jeff leaned over to the "boss" and whispered something. Mr. Pelton frowned.

"What's wrong?" Annie demanded.

Jeff shot up. "You sounded like you were in the Church Choir. Ignore the pastor!"

"I never went to Church, I'm Jewish!" Annie shouted.

"Ooh, formidable. What's the problem? How old are you? Do you even have an older sister to be jealous of?" Jeff asked.

"I hardly think that's your concern!" Annie shot back. "And I'm twenty!" She was only eighteen, but he was a lawyer, and everyone knew they were the biggest liars in the world.

"If I could make a suggestion," the bartender came over.

"What? Abed! This isn't a silent movie. This girl has to _sing_! This is real life."

"I know that," Abed the bartender hopped up on the stage. "Annie, right?"

"Yes?" She was feeling a little shaky.

"That won't do. You can't be yourself up here, you have to be someone else."

"Like, a stage name?"

"Yes, like a stage name," said Abed. "Caroline Decker. From Corpus Christi, Texas."

"But I've never been to Texas," Annie said uncertainly.

"Doesn't matter, kid. Listen to Abed. He's a Polish god!" Jeff shouted from the audience of three.

"Jeffery, don't yell at the performers. Troy might hear you, and we can't have him getting emotional. Harlem dancers are supposed to be made of sterner stuff!

"He's not from Harlem, and neither is Shirley, and _all _your customers know that!" Jeff stalked to the bar and poured himself a scotch from the top rail.

Abed watched the proceedings, then turned back to Annie. "Now Caroline. What do you want more than anything."

"There's a personal question," Annie said carefully.

"No time for small talk, Annie," said Vaughn next to her. He smelled like too much Indian hop and looked like he needed a haircut. On his right, Rich smiled at her encouragingly. He was too clean cut to be real

Annie sighed. "To... go to New York, I guess. I don't know. I used to know what I wanted, but my mother... well."

"Ah," said Abed, as if he had struck gold. "Do you know 'Avalon'?"

"Yes..." sorta. The song just came out.

"Cool," said Abed.

"Stop using "cool" to mean "hep," Abed. It's never going to happen! You sound streets behind." Pierce said. "And if she doesn't know the song, just put her in something low-cut, no one is going to notice!"

"Thanks, Abed," Annie said, ignoring Pierce's comment.

"No problem, Caroline. You'll be just swell. To the band, he said, "Try it in double time, boys."

Ian counted the rhythm again. Pierce, Vaughn, and Rich started in.

_Wait, what? _Annie wanted to cry, but it was too late and the music was taking her...

_I found my love in Avalon_  
_Beside the bay_  
_I left my love in Avalon_  
_And sailed away_  
_I dream of him in Avalon_  
_From dusk until dawn_  
_And so I think I"ll travel on_  
_To Avalon!_

She caught Jeff Winger's eye and infused her voice with as much longing and hurt as she could, but the song was over so soon.

He downed the rest of his scotch. "Fine."

"Are you free for the rest of the afternoon?" Craig asked.

"I, um, yes?" Annie said.

"Good, because you premiere tonight, so rehearse with the band. Our 'Harlem' dancers, Shirley and Troy will be here soon, so you can practice with them, and then, we simply have to get you out of those clothes."

"I assumed this was the audition, otherwise I would have worn something better," Annie said in her defense.

"Don't worry. Pelton's has got you covered!" he sing-songed and made his way over to the bar.

Annie sang a few more tunes, enough to make her comfortable with the band. Pierce was a pervert, but luckily none of it was directed at her. Rich was too good for words. Vaughn was sweet, but in a vague way. And Ian... well, Annie didn't know her geography, but at the end of the rehearsal, she was sure that the East End of London was the bad end, not the one famous for the theater.

She stopped singing for a bit, and plopped down at a table. Abed came over with a steaming mug. "Drink this. For your voice."

"Thank you, Abed," she said, taking a sip. She cringed. "What is this?"

"It's a hot toddy," he said, pulling a chair up next to her. "Tea, Earl Grey in this case, plus whiskey and a bit of honey."

"Oh, thank you."

"Jeff likes you, he just can't tell you."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't want him to intimidate you. He likes women who can stand up to him. But his emotions aren't always apparent. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve like you do."

"How do you know this?"

"I'm a student of the arts of Hollywood. I've seen every silent picture show to come through Greendale. It's what makes me a good bartender. I can tell what people are thinking through their actions."

"Oh. Do your talents include modesty?"

"I am well aware of my own limitations. But I know my strengths and I harness them. You are delicate and graceful, you can break a lot of hearts on that stage. But you need to be Caroline Decker, and not let yourself get your heart broken."

Annie was about to respond when a blonde with a soft bob swooped in wearing a red beaded dress and too much lipstick.

"What's this, Abed, new girlfriend?"

"No," said Abed. "This is Annie, but her stage name is Caroline Decker."

"Our new jazz baby?"

"Yup. And made of stronger stuff than our last one. Jeff called her _formidable_," Abed said. "Annie, this is Britta, our cigarette girl."

"Nice to meet you," said Annie offering her hand.

"You too. Shouldn't you be wearing something flashier? I'm surprised Craig hasn't played dress up with you yet."

"Hello!" called a sweet, motherly voice from across the room.

"Shirley, hi!" Britta greeted.

"Hey guys, what's happening?"

Abed's face warmed at seeing a black man man walk in. Abed went over and shook his hand.

"The usual, Troy?" Abed asked.

Coca Cola, all the way!" Troy said.

"What have we here?" Shirley asked, sitting next to Annie.

"I'm Annie, the new singer," Annie said, introducing herself.

"Her stage name is Caroline Decker," Abed said, bringing a round of Cokes.

"That's nice," Shirley said.

"Shirley, you know that job should have been yours. No offense, Annie," Britta said.

Shirley's smile became a bit more fixed. "It's best not to bring that up in front of Annie," Shirley said.

"Well, I think it's dumb," said Britta. "The Harlem Renaissance is happening now! Black entertainers are _it._"

"Britta's from New York," Troy said. "And no one is arguing with her, but she likes to kick up a fuss anyway."

Annie sipped at her hot toddy. She watched as Abed, Troy, Shirley, and Britta bantered easily, catching up before the club opened. After a few moments, Jeff came and sat next to Annie. Remembering Abed's words, she stiffened a little.

"You should go out to the shop. Craig and Vicky need to get you ready," Jeff told her.

"Right."

"I'll go with," Britta said.

Annie offered Britta a smile and followed the older woman out of the speakeasy and into the boutique.

"What color do you want?"

"Do you have anything in purple?"

They did, one gown with a dropped waist and enough beading to string to the moon and back.

"Perfect," Britta declared.

Annie carefully applied her makeup in the bathroom mirror. Britta gave her an ancient curling iron, and after heating it on the range in the small kitchen, Annie carefully curled her dark brown bob before putting on the purple gown.

The speakeasy was slowly filling up, and the band was playing "Old-Fashioned Garden." Annie was backstage, trying to breathe when Jeff found her.

"Hey, you okay?"

"This is all happening too fast," she said without thinking.

"You'll be fine. They're all half in the bag and you've got great tits. You could be flat and sing the wrong lyrics. They wouldn't even notice."

"Thank... you?"

"No problem. Now relax, Caroline." He shot her a grin and a wink that was all lawyer charm before she stepped out on the stage.

She was momentarily blinded, but after she got to her microphone, she could see Troy and Shirley, getting ready to lead the crowd in the "latest Harlem dances."

Ian counted them in, and Annie,  
_Caroline_  
was baptized a jazz baby.

…

You live at "Darringer's?" Jeff was incredulous.

"Yeah, well, it's just for now, until I can save enough money to move to Chicago." He had offered to drive her home, and Annie had been halfway to the car when she remembered that home was no longer a sweet Queen Anne style home with a white picket fence.

"What's in Chicago?"

"I don't know. My future?"

"You've got it all planned out, don't you?"

"Well, I did, until my mother threw me out."

"Why did she kick you out?"

Annie didn't really want to talk about it, she wanted to have an air of the femme fatale about her, but Abed was right, she wore her heart on her sleeve.

"She... is the head of the WCTU in Greendale, and she found a flask in my room."

"I thought you were Jewish."

"We are. But she's more interested in being 'American' than going to Temple."

"Then why... never mind. How did you get it?"

"The gin? The milkman brings it."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"So now you're a flapper, eager to run off to Chicago?"

"Or New York," Annie said, clutching her purse.

"Why not Paris? You could drink with those writers in the Latin Quarter."

Annie shrugged. "One thing at a time."

"Yeah, well."

"Alcohol isn't illegal in Paris. It's more fun when it's forbidden fruit," Annie said. "The rest of the country apparently cottoned on to that this year, since we've been dry since 1916."

"Good old Andrew J Volstead," Jeff said, faking reverence.

"And now the whole country will let me vote, so really, I can go anywhere."

"But Colorado has always been ahead of the curve," Jeff said. "Women have had the vote since 1893." The lawyer in him was coming out.

"Yeah, but I don't give Colorado top grades. It's not very exotic."

"I beg your unbelievable pardon. Pelton's is very exotic."

"Yeah, what on Earth? Is Mr. Pelton in love with you?"

Jeff shrugged. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's bent, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh. He does seem very interested in ladies' fashion."

"You've never met a homosexual before, have you?"

"I've read Oscar Wilde!" Annie said defensively.

Jeff laughed. "Go get some sleep, kid. You have a bunch of new songs to learn tomorrow."

She crossed her arms. She wasn't a kid - she was a jazz singer now. And hot shot lawyers should be be falling at her feet. Or they would be. But she was definitely not juvenile.

"Seriously, Ms Decker. Get out of my Lincoln. I want to go home."

"I suppose Mrs. Winger is waiting for you."

"Is that what this is about? There is no Mrs. Winger, baby."

"Don't call me that," she warned.

"What, 'baby'?"

Annie kissed him, just to shut him up. Their noses collided, and she bit down too hard on his lip, but he wasn't talking for once.

"I am not a child," she said sweetly. She got out of the auto and slammed the door before marching into the rollicking brothel.


	2. Chapter 2

It astonished Annie how easily and how quickly she settled into her new life. Every day began at three in the afternoon with rehearsals, then dinner with her newfound friends; Britta, Shirley, Jeff, Pierce, Troy, and Abed.

Britta was like the big sister Annie never had, a little neurotic, but sweet and full of advice. And insane stories.

Shirley was one of the kindest people Annie had ever met. She danced at night while her husband Andre watched their three boys. He had a mechanic job during the day. Shirley deserved the singing job more than Annie did, but did not hold it against the younger girl. In fact, Shirley had been kind enough to help Annie with some of the more difficult songs.

Troy and Shirley went to the same church in town. Troy lived with his mother, helping her around the house and giving her most of his paycheck. Annie learned that Troy had a passion for baseball. In the summer, he played on Greendale's Negro team, the Human Beings.

Abed was an enigma, but Annie had great conversations with him. They usually talked about their favorite movies. Abed predicted that soon the movies would learn to talk, and no one could convince him otherwise. Annie thought it was sweet.

Pierce had lost his shirt prospecting for silver or gold, and made his living playing pianos all over Colorado. He was a drifter, but Annie could tell this gruff, crass man felt at home in Greendale.

Jeff was a bit harder to crack. He dropped hints and references, but from what Annie pieced together... his father drank too much and left his mom. Jeff had gone to Columbia Law School before coming back home to Colorado. He had worked in a law firm for a spell before getting fired (details vague) and coming to represent moonshiners and later, Pelton's.

Abed theorized that Jeff felt trapped. But he cared about everyone he defended.

Pelton's was home to those who didn't really fit in to what the Temperance movement defined as "American." They were all different races and religions, from all different walks of life. The xenophobic Mrs. Edison would be horrified. Jeff said it was the booze that united them. Annie thought the booze was more of a catalyst. Abed would say it was a plot point. Whatever it was, Annie was growing to love this group like a family.

Well, not Jeff. He was like the hot neighbor.

He continued to drive her home after her shows, and she would continue to launch herself at him, initiating illicit petting parties outside Darringer's. No one paid them any mind.

Annie learned to order her drinks from the top shelf or go thirsty, and to drink her scotch with just a few drops of water. She kept a spare set of shoes and her coat and purse down a trap door backstage (If there's ever a raid, run, don't hide, Rich had warned her). She learned to sing, Troy taught her the lindy hop, and for the first time in her life, Annie was happy. It was a strange sensation. She met a couple of two-bit bootleggers who supplied the cheap stuff, Mutton-Chops (My name is Alex!) and Leonard, another ex-prospector. Leonard had surpassed even Pierce in crudeness, causing Jeff to get defensive.

"Shut up, Lenard! We know you cut your moonshine with turpentine!"

"And you're still serving it!"

And it was all shattered one night in February when Dean Spreck, their local friendly Prohibition Agent, led a raid on Pelton's. Annie registered Officer Crackowski handcuffing Craig (who didn't look like he was putting up too much of a fight). She fled the stage, literally running out of her high heels. She fumbled with the trap door and descended into the basement. Annie didn't have long before the cops came down to bust up the inventory (standard procedure). She pulled on her moccasins and coat before slipping out a side door into an alley.

Don't run - don't draw attention to yourself, a sensible voice in her head said. You can't get arrested you can't afford a lawyer.

So she walked, briskly, away, just away, blocks away, streets away streets ahead said Pierce in her mind... and came to a stop in front of Jeff Winger.

"Annie? You got out?"

"Yeah, you?" Annie wrapped her arms around herself.

"Obviously."

"Who else made it out?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. We'll get in touch with everyone tomorrow. Need a ride?"

She shivered. His auto was heated. "Yes please."

They walked back to his Lincoln and bounded in.

"You're pretty good at getting out of tight scrapes, then."

"Yeah, well, always have an exit strategy," Annie said, rubbing her fingers together.

He chuckled. They drove to her place, the only sound between them was the heater spitting out warm air.

Pulling up to her hotel/brothel, they noticed there was a raid going on.

"Shit," said Jeff, driving by.

"What, do all the raids happen at once in this town?" Annie slumped into her seat.

"Spreck has been trying to shut down Pelton's for ages," Jeff said. "And once you have one raid, you have to raid everyone else, or words gets out too quick."

"A lot of good that does me. I have nowhere to stay now."

"You can stay at my place," he offered.

"Could I stay with Britta?"

"Britta has been arrested, and she probably won't be charged until morning, judging by the amount of working girls in that wagon. C'mon, I won't bite. That's usually your division."

Annie blushed. "Fine."

"Cool."

"That's kind of Abed's word."

"Yeah. Don't tell him I used it."

Annie laughed.

Jeff turned the auto around and they made their way back to the center of town. He didn't live that far from Pelton's - the activity from a half an hour ago had died down. The doors were padlocked shut from the outside.

Annie worried at the handle of her purse as she followed him inside, being very quiet as they passed his landlady's door.

She didn't know what she expected when she entered Jeff Winger's apartment, but it wasn't this. The furniture was sparse; a couch, a coffee table, a table and two chairs in the kitchen, a bed, a dresser. It was like a monk's cell.

"You take the bed," Jeff pointed towards the bedroom.

"No, I couldn't possibly make you sleep on that sofa. You're too tall."

"Let me be a gentleman, Annie."

"But you're not a gentleman," Annie pointed out.

"Yeah, but if I don't treat you like a lady, Shirley will tear my face off."

Annie considered his words. "We could... both take the bed."

He measured her up. Annie stuck out her boobs.

"Fine, but I'm going to need a drink first."

That sounded promising.

Annie was nursing her second scotch, wearing Jeff's borrowed pyjamas and hiding under his blankets when he came in with his (third? fourth?) and settled next to her, sliding in on top of the top sheet. As if the thin barrier of Egyptian cotton could protect her modesty. She felt herself warm with the arrival of his heat. At least he was was wearing pyjamas too. She counted the layers, one, two, three. Underwear; four, five.

"So what are we going to do? About Pelton's, I mean."

"This may surprise you, but I'm a damn good defense lawyer, and I've been swinging prohibition cases since the Bone Dry chapter passed."

"But isn't a federal law different than a state law?" Annie asked.

"But the Volstead Act is less restrictive than Chapter 141. Besides, I know the prosecutor, Jeremy Simmons."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we went to law school together. He's never beaten me in a case."

"Which will only make him more determined, Jeff."

He shrugged and downed the rest of his scotch.

She swallowed the rest of the drink and curled up with the pillow.

Jeff smiled at her; her heart fluttered when he turned out the light.

"Now what?"

"Now sleep, Annie. Say your prayers."

"Mine are different than yours."

"I don't pray."

"Me either."

"Go to sleep, Annie. We have to do lawyer things tomorrow."

"We?"

"Me."

Annie thought it would take her ages to fall asleep. With Jeff beside her, she assumed that she would be stuck thinking about the private petting parties in the back of his Lincoln.

Maybe it was the scotch, or the fear of losing her job and probably her room, and the comfort of someone breathing next to her... Annie was out in moments.

The following days were spent trying to organize for Craig Pelton's trial. He was out on bail and in Jeff's apartment quite a bit. Annie kept saying she was going over to Britta's, and Jeff kept saying he was going to bring her over there, and Britta kept offering Annie the couch, and it never seemed to happen. At the end of the day, Jeff was usually too tired to do much of anything, and Annie had gotten in the habit of sleeping next to him. They were dancing around an unspoken mutual awkwardness, but Annie, determined to act like the twenty-year old flapper she knew she could be, didn't want to be without the awkwardness. He liked when she put on records and sang along with the jazz singers, to keep her voice in shape, and she grew to like eating his scrambled eggs, and even let him cajole her into eating bacon, which had never been allowed in her childhood home.

The night before the trial, and Jeff seemed too on edge for much of anything.

All of their livelihoods were at stake, and he sat at his kitchen table, fully aware of this. He couldn't even look at his notes, he just kept playing with the same silver dollar Annie saw when she first met him.

"Jeff, it's going to be fine."

"And if Pelton has to spend the rest of his life in jail?"

"Well, he won't. No prohibition sentence is that long." She sat down at the table next to him.

"And you need a job, and Troy and Shirley and Pierce, and Abed-"

"Abed is going to move to Hollywood and develop talking pictures. You need to relax."

Jeff sighed. "We're out of scotch."

Annie leaned over and kissed him, for the first time since the raid two weeks ago. He kissed her back, and suddenly, they were in their old rhythm, but out of his Lincoln for once. More space. They tumbled and tripped into the bedroom, shedding clothing all the way. Annie pushed Jeff down on bedspread before straddling him.

"Jesus, kid."

"I'm not a kid," she reminded him while undoing his shirt buttons.

"It's a term of endearment."

"Shut up, lawyer."

He did, and Annie felt him finally relax.

…

The week of the trial dragged on and on, so full of legal terms that Jeff and Simmons threw around, trying to out talk each other. Jeff seemed in his element, and intent on winning over Judge Whitman and the entire male jury.

They called their witnesses and argued their cases and laid on charm so thick, Annie thought the jury would gag on it. Then on Friday, for closing arguments, Simmons and Jeff let their tempers get the better of them.

"It's only February! The Volstead Act has only been in effect for six weeks. Craig Pelton was merely trying to get rid of his liquor stash by sharing it with his loyal customers. The Volstead Act makes no issue with alcohol already in possession on January 1st, 1920!"

Simmons argued back, "Liquor has been illegal to own or transport in Colorado since 1916!"

"Then you have to charge us separately for that! You're charging my client with violating the Volstead Act, a federal offense.

"If you want to charge him with Chapter 141, then you have to get a new case. And since that's a state law, not a federal law, you're going to need to start from scratch! But because it's "standard procedure" to destroy all the incriminating evidence, you hardly have a leg to stand on!"

Simmons fumed.

Whitman banged his gavel. "So ends closing arguments. Jury?"

They filed out of the room. Jeff stormed out, with Craig, Annie, Abed, Pierce and Britta in his wake.

Troy and Shirley were waiting outside, having come down from the negro section in the balcony.

"What's the word?" Troy asked.

"So do we have a chance?" Shirley looked to Jeff.

The lawyer shrugged. "I hope so. I recognized half the jury from Pelton's anyway, so maybe..."

Abed shrugged. "Prohibition may be a noble experiment, but it won't last long. I predict a rise in organized crime and corruption before it's eventually repealed."

"And when will that be?" Britta asked.

Abed licked his finger and stuck it in the air, measuring the breeze. "In thirteen years."

Shirley shivered and huddled closer to the group. "I hope it ends soon. I don't want to be a part of organized crime."

Pierce asked, "As a good Christian woman, why are you at Pelton's?"

"I notice you're not asking Troy that question," Shirley said dangerously.

Troy shrugged, not wanting to get into it.

Britta tried to calm her friend, "I think what Pierce means is, you have three boys to support."

"Well, I want to perform! And besides, alcohol isn't a sin, it's just illegal."

A page rushed out. "Winger, the jury's back."

"Thanks Garrett, we'll be there in a second," Jeff said.

"That was quick, wasn't that quick?" Annie asked nervously.

Jeff shrugged and led Craig back inside.

Everyone fell in line.

The mood in the courtroom was tense. Annie held Britta's hand and fought for breath. Pelton's was all she had, all they had. If it were taken away from her now, what would she do? All she owned in the world was in a suitcase at Jeff's place. She could maybe afford a ticket to Chicago, but she found that she didn't want to leave her friends behind...

The jury came in; all of them looked at Craig.

"That's a good sign," Britta whispered to Annie.

"Have you reached an agreement?" Judge Whitman asked the Jury.

"We have, your honor."

Everyone in the courtroom stood.

"In a possible violation of the Volstead Act, we find the defendant Craig Pelton not guilty."

Simmons slammed his fist on the table, but no one heard the sound over the loud cheering that erupted.

Whitman banged his gavel. "Pelton's Lady Emporium will reopen tomorrow. Case dismissed."

Annie saw Jeff discretely wipe his forehead.

…

Everyone came to Pelton's early the next morning, as if drawn together by a magnet. Together, they began cleaning up the mess the raiders had made.

And Troy and Abed began implementing some ingenious schemes for hiding the booze. Honestly, this might not be the 21, but the Manhattan club could not have anything nearly as sophisticated.

Craig was in near tears the whole time. Britta gently sent him out to help Vicky and Neil straighten up the storefront. Mutton Chops and Leonard delivered some moonshine, and Ian brought in a frighteningly large stash of gin that he "just happened to have lying around."

Annie looked around at the people putting their home away from home back together. It filled her with joy to see all these people, who did not have anywhere else to go, had this place to come to. Pelton's was open to everyone, every age, and it was intoxicating. It warmed her like one of Abed's famous hot toddys. It wouldn't be here forever, but it was here, and she was here. Jeff caught her eye across the bar; she blushed and went back to mopping the floor.

"How long have you been in love with Jeff?" Britta asked conversationally.

"How long have you been in love with Troy?" Annie shot back.

"Touche`."

Maybe she would by some new lingerie instead of a bus ticket to Chicago. Purple, to go with her best singing dress, which she'd be putting on in just a few hours.

Caroline Decker had an appointment to keep. And maybe tonight, she'd get Shirley to come up and sing with her. It was time to mix it up.

...

Hope you enjoyed that little nonsense. Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!


End file.
